"Stranger Than Fiction" is supposed to be about Harold Crick (Will Ferrell) and the voice he keeps hearing in his head. It belongs to Kay Eiffel (Emma Thompson), an English writer who just happens to be writing a novel about a character named . . . Harold Crick. The real Harold doesn't appreciate some dulcet-toned Englishwoman narrating the soundtrack of his life. This is the movie's best gimmick: that Harold can actually hear Eiffel. She seems deeply aware of his dull personal life and his obsession with numbers and statistics. Even worse, in her final chapter she plans to . . . kill off the character! The only thing keeping the real Harold alive, apparently, is her creative indecision as she figures out how to get rid of him.

You could watch "Stranger Than Fiction" and enjoy a perfectly fine romance between Will Ferrell and Maggie Gyllenhaal. That's because Ferrell's deer-in-the-headlights anxiety always has us chuckling at hello and Gyllenhaal's doe-eyed charm could warm a blueberry muffin at 50 paces.

He's a tax man whose obsession with numbers and routine could use a romantic wake-up call, and she's a Manhattan bakery owner with no man in her life. The meet-cute part of the equation? He's auditing her. Aw.

But there's a problem: This romance isn't developed enough to be truly satisfying -- it's fat-free SnackWell's when you want Godiva. It's not the original story we signed up for -- or thought we did.

We nearly lick our lips, anticipating the intriguing resolutions ahead: how Eiffel invented Harold, for instance, or what mysterious psychic destiny brought these two together in the first place.

Unfortunately -- or not, depending on your perspective -- the filmmakers seem to have their minds on some other movie.

-- Desson Thomson (Nov. 9, 2006)

Contains some disturbing images, sexual content, brief profanity and nudity.